


Skate Into My Heart (and Other Bad Hockey Puns)

by adhdbuck



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Also Jaskier is Polish from Poland, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hockey Player!Jaskier, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Physical Therapist Geralt, Pining, but like, hmmm.....what else to tag, i don't do much with it because dumb tiny brain, i just could not come up with a title, i only use OMCs because im way to lazy to rake through witcher lore, i'm a liar sorry, it is my first original title so yay, it’s not explicitly stated but it is heavily implied, just a little of it, no one is allowed complete happiness in my fics without first suffering, no song lyrics fit and i wanted to have a hockey title, over the period of like a week, so i came up with this, there's actually not any hockey puns in this i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adhdbuck/pseuds/adhdbuck
Summary: Jaskier gets injured while playing, enter one extremely gorgeous physical therapist.Hilarity ensues, kind of.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 150





	Skate Into My Heart (and Other Bad Hockey Puns)

**Author's Note:**

> why did i write this you ask...idk man 
> 
> my only qualifications is that I spend hours on youtube watching hockey compilations and that I once went to physical therapy for my chronic knee pain ... and that's it 
> 
> please enjoy this took me much longer to write than I thought it would, it was definitely a labor of love and I hope it doesn't suck too much :)

“Robins passes to Bragnalo as they make their way down to the Vipers goal, and there’s a whistle being blown…”

“Looks like a player is down on center ice…number 29 of the Ravens.”

“Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.”

“We’re watching the replay now, and you can see number 29 Pankratz right there, gets cross-checked from behind by number 82 of the Vipers. Pankratz went down hard, looks like his skate got caught as he fell…”

“This might be an ACL or MCL injury…”

“He looks like he’s in a lot of pain. What a shame this is only his second season with the Ravens.”

“That’s a great sign. He got up and is being helped off the ice by –”

Out of nowhere, Jaskier’s phone is ripped out of his hands,

“What the fuck, Ren!”

“How many times have I told you not to watch that?” She throws his phone on the other couch, knowing full well he can’t get to it by himself.

Jaskier just sighs, resigning to the fact that attempting to reason with Renfri is as smart as dropping gloves with a player way out of his weight class,

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this lovely visit.”

Renfri ignores his sarcasm, too busy typing something on her phone,

“Your physical therapist is coming,” like magic, the doorbell to his apartment rings, “right now.”

She walks out of the living room, leaving Jaskier gawking at her. It wasn’t like he _wasn’t_ expecting physical therapy, but he’d at least like a head’s up. He hadn’t been able to take a shower, or a bath since his surgeon had explicitly told him not to move for six weeks.

Maybe he took a few liberties with the instructions, spending the whole time on the couch in his own funk, catching up on all of the shows he’s missed while on the road, and drinking beer.

His trainer is going to be _pissed_ when he finds out.

While Jaskier is in the middle of smelling his pits, wondering just how bad he smells, Renfri walks in with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, _besides in the mirror….ha._

Renfri smirks as she introduces him, “Jask, meet Dr. Rivia,”

The man’s face slightly flushes, “Geralt is fine.”

_Geralt_ is one of the most handsome people he’s come across, with impossibly silver hair tied back into a ponytail and amber eyes? _I’m done for._

Don’t even get him started on the absolutely _sinful_ way that the man has rolled up his button-up sleeves.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” Just because he has days old Cheeto crumbs and smells like he hasn’t taken a shower in days (he hasn’t) doesn’t mean he can’t turn on the charm full blast.

The guy barely cracks a smile, but there is a tiny hint of one, so Jaskier takes it as a win.

Renfri pulls up some chairs from the dining room, and now it’s time for the serious stuff. Jaskier wishes they could just ignore it, and he could continue attempting to flirt with the hot physical therapist, but destiny has not been on his side as of late.

Geralt gets right down to it, fishing out a file out of his bag, “Says here that you fractured your patella. What happened?”

Jaskier snorts, “I can pull up the video if you’d like.”

“ _Julian._ ” Renfri stares him down, Jaskier immediately shuts up.

Geralt just looks between the two of them with a confused look on his face, “Well, I looked at your X-Rays. The surgeon did a good job, you should be back on your feet in a few months.”

Jaskier feels his heart drop into his stomach, he knew his injury was _bad,_ but he thought he would at least get back in the game before the season ended, “Months? Can’t we speed up the process?”

Renfri sighs and puts her head in her hands, and Geralt keeps his face stern,

“Sure,” Jaskier lets himself feel hope even though he feels a huge ‘but’ coming, “if you want to damage your knee beyond repair.”

This is really the last thing he needs, months out of the rink. What if they find another center? What if he’s benched for the rest of his career? What if he’s traded?

He feels his heart rate speed up as his mind spirals out of control with potential travesties. Jaskier was new on the team, and he was easily replaceable. Sure, he helped the team last season get into the playoffs, but that didn’t mean anything. The other guys on the team liked him, but they wouldn’t miss him. Just another player who came and went.

Jaskier feels sick.

“Czy wszystko w porządku?” _Are you okay?_ Renfri may have a heart made of ice, but she and Jaskier have bonded over their tumultuous relationships with their families.

"Niedobrze mi.” _I’m feeling nauseous._ She pats his hand, and Geralt clears his throat,

“Can I see your knee?” Geralt gestures over to it, artistically hidden under a large quilt one of the guys had taken from his bed when they visited last. His teammates were actually super attentive. The only times he had been alone was right before he passed out and when they had games.

On game days, Jaskier would watch from the couch, sending chirps from miles away through text. It helped him feel like he was still a part of the team, sort of. Obviously, the guys didn’t have their phones on them on the bench, and they were ready to pass out as soon they left the ice. So sometimes he didn’t get a text back until the next morning, or not at all. It was fine. He totally didn’t mind…

“Yeah, sure, lemme just,” After flipping up the quilt, Jaskier rolls up his sweatpants, thanking the gods that he remembered to put them on this morning.

Jaskier had never been good with injuries, despite his profession, so he looked away from it as soon as the sutures come into view, “How does it look doc?”

Geralt ignores his quip and instead starts poking around his knee, careful not to jostle it around too much, “Can you lift it?”

_Of course I can,_ Jaskier had been practicing…against the doctor’s orders. He just wanted to play, okay?

As he lifts his right leg, Jaskier feels sweat on his brow. Just because he had been practicing didn’t make it any easier.

He was a _professional_ hockey player, for gods’ sake. He’s been in scrums, he’s played all three periods in multiple back-to-back games, he’s the most agile player on the team, so why is lifting his leg so fucking hard?

“That’s enough,” Geralt places his hand on his knee, easing it back down, not that it has far back down to go.

And _holy shit,_ is his hand big _._

“What do you think?” He really wants to wipe that smirk of Renfri’s face, but she is staying right out of his reach.

“There’s still some bruising and swelling,” His hand is still resting on his leg, and Jaskier thinks he stopped breathing about ten minutes ago, “but another few weeks and it should go down.

He then turns to Jaskier, “You should be able to walk on crutches soon, so you can come to my office, and I can start you on the regimen.”

Jaskier just swallows and nods, _who even has that color of eyes?_

After Geralt removes his hand, and Jaskier has to keep himself from whining at the loss of weight.

Renfri and Geralt begin discussing payment and what his rehabilitation looks like. He takes that as a sign to tune out. He really wants his phone back, the team plays tonight, and he needs to let Christoff know not to let the other team score so many fucking times.

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice that Geralt had left,

“Geralt is nice.” But Renfri notices everything.

“Trzymaj się swojego fiuta,” _Mind your own fucking business_ , she’s been witness to many of his romantic blunders, and he does not want to add physical therapist to the growing list. Sure, the guy is _wildly_ attractive, but Jaskier knows when to pick his battles.

Renfri just holds up her hands in defeat, handing back his phone, “If I catch you watching that video again, I’m breaking your phone.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Renfri just glares at him, clearly spelling out ‘try me.’

He decides to stay out of his phone for the rest of the night and sticks to just watching the game.

* * *

The Uber drops him off in front of Rivia’s Athletic Physical Therapy & Rehabilitation, _what a mouthful._ As he fumbles with his crutches and makes his way out of the car like a newborn deer, Jaskier tries to come up with ways to shorten it, RAPTR becomes his favorite.

Which is why he’s muttering, ‘raptor’ over and over again while walking into the office, gaining a few odd stares from the other patrons. He decides to do a meek smile and adjusts his cap to hide his face.

The last thing he needs after an injury is for people to think he’s lost his marbles.

“Hello!” There’s a…small child sitting at the front desk, Jaskier looks around, trying to spot someone at least a little bit older.

She just continues, “I can check you in. What’s your name?”

“Uh…Julian…Pankratz?”

Her feet barely touch the ground, “Is that a question or a statement?”

Jaskier laughs out loud, which must have gotten Geralt’s attention as he rushes up to the desk,

“Cirilla, didn’t I say to stay in the office?” _Man, he looks god in a button-up_ , which is buttoned save for the top two. Sadly, he has an undershirt on, but that doesn’t stop Jaskier from daydreaming.

The kid, Cirilla, just pouts, “I wanted to help.”

“She was doing an excellent job.” Jaskier winks at her, and she giggles. He’s a fan favorite for a reason.

Geralt just shakes his head and ducks his head, but Jaskier spots the smile on his face, “Did you check him in?”

“Yup!” Cirilla smiles up at Geralt. Jaskier spots a couple of missing teeth. He wishes Spitz was here so he could make a hilarious comparison, but he isn’t, so Jaskier just saves it for later.

“Alright, well, you go back in the office,” Geralt points at Ciri, then points to Jaskier, “and you can come with me.”

Ciri gets up from the desk, “You must be special. My dad doesn’t usually see everyone.”

Jaskier can see the resemblance between them now, but he’s flustered by being called ‘special’ not that it means anything, but boy does it feel good.

“Ciri.” He basically almost growls, but Ciri doesn’t mind and just skips to what Jaskier assumes is the office.

Geralt leads him into the open room. It’s early in the morning, so there are not many people there, which is good. Not that he’s super recognizable, Renfri made him cut his hair after his surgery. _“You need a new look, and shorter hair is easier to manage.”_

Jaskier just agreed, it’s best to go along with whatever she wants to do.

He can spot a few people stare at him, trying to place wherever they recognize him from. Jaskier just waves at them, and they look away, embarrassed.

The two make their way to a separate room. Renfri must have requested some privacy. Jaskier wouldn’t have minded either way, but it’s nice not having to worry about being gawked at.

Geralt points to a cushioned recliner for Jaskier to sit on while he grabs some weights from the rack.

Well, he tries to, but it’s one inch too high. Now he’s grateful for the separate room because _this_ is fucking _embarrassing_.

When Geralt turns around, Jaskier is about two seconds away from throwing his crutches across the room,

“Do you need some help?” Jaskier has to remind himself that it’s his job to help him, but that doesn’t stop him from snapping at the poor guy,

“I’m fine.”

Geralt just nods, keeping himself at arm’s length from Jaskier.

Finally, he makes it up.

There’s really no chance in hell left for him to make a move on this guy.

_Duh,_ he thinks, dude has a kid, which means he has a spouse, which means he’s _happily_ married to a very nice person.

“Have you gotten used to the crutches?”

“What do you think?” It’s supposed to come out less bitter, but his brain is not currently connecting to his mouth correctly.

Geralt just nods again and walks over to his knee, and begins to poke at it. Well, there’s probably a more technical term, but to Jaskier, it feels like he’s poking.

“Have you felt any pain at all? In the knee or around it?”

_Yes,_ “Nope, all good.”

He can see Geralt’s eyebrow slightly raise, but he continues, “Okay, well, pain is normal. If you do begin to feel any discomfort, you can put ice on it, and if it gets any worse, you can talk to your doctor, and they can prescribe you some light pain medication.”

Jaskier nods, his doctor told him the same thing, but he’s fine…completely fine.

“For today, I’m just going to see where your flexibility is at and how far I can push you.”

Jaskier's mouth begins to move before he can even register what’s being said to him, “I’m very flexible.”

His brain is now off, and Jaskier no longer knows how to function.

“Are you a gymnast?” _Holy shit, did I just get away with that?_

“Uh…no…” ‘Do you know who I am?’ Is on the tip of his tongue, but he’s said it so many times accidentally, and it never went over well. He never meant to say it like such an asshole, he was just actually curious if people knew who he was.

That didn’t seem to stop the waiters from trying to swing at him for it.

Geralt just hums and begins to lift Jaskier’s leg. He’s glad the conversation is over because he doesn’t want to have explain what led him to this point. Everyone gets checked in hockey, why did he have to get injured? At least Letho got a penalty, and they got a score after he left the ice.

It makes him feel a little bit better about the whole thing.

He’s interrupted by a sharp pain shooting through his leg as Geralt lifts it just a bit too high for his comfort. Jaskier tries to hold in the hiss, but some slips through,

“We’ll work on that.”

“It’s fine, doc, just gotta do some more stretches.” He smiles, but the look on Geralt’s face means that it wasn’t too convincing.

That’s pretty much how the rest of the appointment goes. Geralt moves his leg, Jaskier hides his pain, Geralt gives him a look, rinse and repeat.

While Jaskier struggles with a twenty-pound weight on the leg-lift machine, Ciri sneaks into the room. Geralt had left the room a little while ago to do _whatever_ , probably laugh at the poor schmuck who can’t even touch his toes.

“Are you supposed to be in here?” Jaskier could use the break, so he sets the weights down and engages with the little intruder.

Ciri keeps a straight face, fighting off a giggle, “I looked you up,” Jaskier doesn’t hide the wince this time, “did it hurt?”

Now it’s time for the age-old tradition, lying to children,

“Just a little bit, not too bad.” He hopes his smile is better at convincing her than her dad,

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Vengerberg, what did I tell you?” Geralt comes storming into the room, “I’m so sorry if she bothered you.”

Jaskier just laughs, “It’s no problem at all. I was a rambunctious kid in my day too.”

“I’m not a kid! I’m eleven!” Ciri puffs up her cheeks, and Jaskier doesn’t want to hurt her feelings by laughing more, but he can barely hold it back.

“I’m so sorry,” He bows to Ciri, “this fine young woman was not bothering me, sir.”

She looks a bit happier, so Jaskier thinks he’s done his job. Geralt also looks like he’s…smiling? Hard to tell with his always very stoic face.

“C’mon Ciri, your mom is here to pick you up.” _Duh, duh, duh, duh._

“Bye, Mr. Pankratz!”

Jaskier waves back to her, leaning over to Geralt, “She’s a great kid.”

“Yeah, she is,” Ciri might as well have won the Stanley Cup with the way Geralt looks at her. Jaskier wonders if it’s weird to be jealous of a child, “Did she ask you anything?”

Jaskier looks down at his basketball shorts, finding a fascinating piece of loose thread,

“Uh yeah…just about my injury,” He chuckles, but it comes out way too dry, “Guess she’s a pretty good sleuth.”

“How many times have I told her not to...” Geralt mutters to himself, and proud dad now turns into cross dad, “If she made you uncomfortable, I’ll make her come back and apologize.”

“No! It’s totally fine. It’s out there anyway, so what’s the harm?”

“If you don’t mind, then why do you dodge whenever I ask you what happened?” Geralt’s arms are crossed in front of his chest, “Also, stop messing with that. You’ll ruin the hemline.”

“Do you sew in your spare time?”

“Jaskier.”

He would rather not show the hot physical therapist the worst moment in his career, but he can’t really so no to him either. Deciding it was better to show than tell, he gets out his phone as Geralt watches him, making sure he’s not deflecting again.

JULIAN PANKRATZ SEASON ENDING INJURY FULL VIDEO is waiting for him to click on it as soon as he opens up YouTube,

“Here.”

Jaskier looks away as Geralt watches it. He can basically recite what the announcers say by heart at this point.

Whoever uploaded the video tacked on Letho’s interview at the end. In which he “apologizes” for injuring him, 

“I feel bad that he had to leave the game, but he was in my way.” Jaskier mouths along mockingly as the clip ends.

Geralt hands him back his phone, “You’re a hockey player?”

“That’s all you have to say?” Jaskier scoffs back.

Geralt has the tactfulness to look embarrassed at his comment, “Sorry, it’s just…you…uh…”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, “I don’t look like one?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” Jaskier grabs his crutches and starts to stand up, “it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt looks pretty pathetic as he tries to fumble out an apology. Jaskier decides to be merciful,

“Doc, don’t worry about it,” He puts a hand on his shoulder, awkwardly leaning on his crutch, “really, it’s no big deal.”

Geralt looks relieved to be out of the situation, and Jaskier hates that he put him in it in the first place. The guy is just there to treat his knee, not deal with all his stupid baggage.

“I’ll walk you out.” The sentence ends with a lilt, so it comes out as more of a question. Jaskier ignores it for his sake.

“Lead the way.”

Geralt goes back into doctor mode back at the front desk, handing Jaskier more papers than he knows what to do with. Something RICE, something no heavy lifting, something, something, something. Most of it goes over his head, and it’s not like he’ll really need any of it anyway. All he needs is to rest, and then he can play…hopefully.

“…sure you ice it at least once a day…are you listening?”

“Uh yeah, ice it, raise it, rest…”

“And compress, can you handle all that?”

_Is he…cracking a joke with me?_ Jaskier allows himself to have hope for a smidge of a second, _maybe he and his wife have a terrible relationship and…_

“Mr. Pankratz?” Geralt tilts his head, another ghost of a smile on his lips.

Jaskier shakes himself out of his daydream, _he’s just being nice,_

“No yeah, got it all taken care of.”

“See you on Wednesday.”

* * *

The passage of time is still _extremely_ elusive to Jaskier.

Without a hockey schedule to ground him, it feels like he’s just…floating.

Of course, there’s his physical therapy schedule, Monday, Wednesday, and every other Friday, 9:00 am _sharp_.

Jaskier had been late one too many times, and Geralt politely chewed him out for it.

Other than that, their relationship was strictly professional, a little laugh there, some light touches here, all above board.

Jaskier’s daydreams were anything but, but no one had to know about those. Those were between him, his hand, and a very empty apartment.

This brings him back to the main point. He has been on this couch (and at physical therapy) for _a month._ He’s been grin and bearing it for Geralt for weeks, and he still hasn’t gotten a pass.

It’s honestly started to ruin the polite, professional relationship with Geralt. Jaskier is known for being sarcastic and snippy, but with Geralt, it might as well be a borderline tantrum.

Geralt always stays calm, _the saint_ , telling Jaskier not to ‘push himself too hard’ or ‘take things slow and easy’ or ‘healing isn’t a race’ or ‘I’m deeply madly in love with you.’

_Yeah right._

* * *

“You’ve been progressing well with the exercises,” Geralt is lightly pushing on his back, but he might as well be sitting on it as Jaskier tries to stretch, “I think we’ll take off your brace today and move you onto the treadmill?”

“Really?” Last week he had been able to ditch his crutches, and now his brace? All he needs to do now is get back on the ice, and everything will be right with the world.

“Yeah, unless you’re not comfortable, in which case we can stick to the –”

Jaskier puts a hand up, “No, it's totally fine. I’ve wanted to change it up.”

Geralt leads him over to the treadmill, which is placed directly in front of a T.V. Which would usually be nice, but as Geralt turns it on for him, ESPN comes up, _of course_.

“—it’s such a shame. His career was really starting to kick off too.” _They could be talking about literally anybody…_

The large graphic of his face begs to differ as they flash his statistics across the screen,

“I hate that picture.” Is all he can bring himself to say as he reads the headline,

RUMOR: PANKRATZ BEING TRADED AGAIN AFTER INJURY?

_At least they were nice enough to put rumor in front of it._

The channel suddenly changes as Geralt suddenly gasps out a ‘sorry.’ Jaskier appreciates the gesture, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. He’s already been traded once, it wouldn’t be a total stretch to be traded for a second time.

It does still sting a little. He liked playing with the Ravens, the guys welcomed him with open arms, and none of his teammates made him want to bash his head in.

Definitely an improvement from his previous team.

Jaskier’s phone starts to ring, and he doesn’t have to read the caller ID to know who it is,

“Hel–”

“Please tell me you didn’t see that.”

“You mean Karen Matthews and Don Watson using a crystal ball to see whether I have a future in NHL or not?”

The line suddenly goes silent, and Jaskier has to look at his screen to make sure it didn’t accidentally hang up. When he sees it’s not, he assumes she muted herself to scream at some poor intern that happened to be nearby,

“I’m going to kill them.” Renfri huffs out, and he stifles a laugh. Her fury is much funnier when it’s directed at someone else.

“You’re not.”

A pause,

“No, but I really want to.”

“Listen, why don’t we talk about this later over lunch? I’m still at physical therapy.” He turns around to watch Geralt, who’s still flipping through the channels. In what Jaskier assumes is a feeble attempt to pretend he’s not listening in on his conversation.

“Why did you answer the phone?”

And with that, she hangs up, leaving Jaskier to apologize this time around,

“Sorry about that.”

Geralt shakes his head, “I should have known better, Ciri likes to set up the T.V.’s the night before, and I always forget to check.”

“She’s into hockey?”

“Not really,” Geralt pauses, “but ever since she met you, she’s been your number one fan.”

“Oh my god, really?” Jaskier basically barks out as he begins to laugh uncontrollably, “I’m so sorry man.” The sorry doesn’t sound too sincere as it comes in between his lungs wheezing.

Geralt smiles or smirks or grins, “There are worse players out there.”

Suddenly Jaskier can’t breathe for a totally different reason.

“C’mon,” Geralt interrupts his totally wonderful daydream, “I’d like to get you on here for at least twenty minutes with a slow walk.”

During his _agonizingly_ turtle-pace stroll, Jaskier comes up with a wonderful idea. Perhaps his best idea since he decided to leave his old team if he does say so himself.

He waits till their walking back out to the front since it gives Jaskier enough time to scrap the plan and rework it a thousand times over in the few minutes it takes to walk over.

“Good work, today Jaskier, keep stretching and doing light exercises at home over the weekend and...” Geralt goes through his weekly reminders as if Jaskier could ever forget with the way he pounds it into him…

Maybe not the best choice of words.

Before he can stop himself _again,_ Jaskier opens his mouth, “Actually, I was thinking…”

“I can’t treat brain injuries.” Geralt has a face of stone, and if Jaskier hadn’t been spending a month with the guy, he would have had no idea how to respond.

“Hey!” Not that he does now but, whatever.

“I’m sorry,” The smirk on his face is definitely betraying him, “continue.”

“Well, now I don’t know if I want to tell you anymore.” _Two can play at this game_.

Jaskier pretends that he’s about to leave, pretend being the keyword since his Uber isn’t even here yet.

His dramatics seem to work as the smirk on Geralt’s face goes straight, and he grabs Jaskier’s arm to stop him. The action makes his brain shut down, as it wants to do whenever Geralt touches him.

This is extremely annoying since Geralt is his physical therapist and is _constantly_ touching him,

“Hey, I was just kidding. What’s up?”

“Well,” Jaskier stares down at his feet, “since you said Ciri was interested in hockey…sort of…um…”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, would you…” _JUST SAY IT,_ “liketotakehertoagamethisweekend?”

Geralt just stares at him, trying to decode his words, “What?”

“Players, we get tickets for friends and stuff, and well, you said she was interested, and there’s a game this weekend before playoffs start, and I thought it would be fun for her to go, and you’re her parent, so you would have to go, and her mom can come too –”

“Jaskier, breathe.”

He does as he’s told and takes a solid breath in. It feels like he’s just been knocked down onto the ice with the way his lungs are dying from talking so much.

“As much as I would like to take you up on the offer, I couldn’t take –”

“Please don’t say no just because you think it’s me trying to bribe you into cutting my rehab short.”

Geralt just stares at him, it was exactly what he was thinking, “What’s your number?”

Jaskier’s brain continues to short-circuit, “…what?”

“I’ll have to talk it over with Ciri’s mom,” Geralt grabs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Jaskier, “she’s not into sports, but I’m sure Ciri would like to go, and as your physical therapist it would be nice to see what kind of trouble you might get yourself into.”

Jaskier grabs his phone before he can change his mind, putting his contact name as ‘Jaskier.’ When he hands it back to Geralt, their hands brush, and Jaskier really wishes he had the guts to be a homewrecker.

“I’ve meant to ask…”

“Yeah?”

“Where did Jaskier come from?”

“Oh,” Jaskier can feel his face turn red as he rubs the back of his neck, “it means ‘buttercup’ in polish…it was a joke when I got in the minor leagues, and it kind of stuck…”

Geralt smiles, “It’s nice.”

Jaskier feels his heart squeeze and finally realizes it’s not that he just wants to spend one night with Geralt, but the rest of his life.

But he can’t, he can’t do that to him, to Ciri, to his wife that Jaskier bets is a lovely woman.

So, he’ll just suffice with this, a nice, polite, professional relationship.

* * *

Renfri is yelling something about ‘vultures’ and ‘stupid fucking interns’ when Jaskier feels his phone vibrate,

_Geralt: Are those tickets still available?_

He can’t help the fist pump, and Renfri gives him a weird look as he types feverishly,

_Jaskier: Yup, all yours!_

He pauses before he hits send, _no too needy,_

_Jaskier: Yup_

_Too serious._

_Jaskier: Of course, anything for you_

“Oh my god, send the text already.” Renfri rolls her eyes as she stabs her Caesar salad.

“Skurwielu.” _Asshole_ is all Jaskier can respond with as he hits send on a very professional text,

_Jaskier: Yep! Game is tomorrow at 2:30_ __

Along with directions to the stadium and a map of the stadium, Jaskier wants to make sure they don’t die trying to get into the rink.

Renfri rolls her eyes again and continues on her tirade. Jaskier is too busy daydreaming about wooing Geralt with his hockey prowess to really pay attention.

__________________________________________

Walking through the fan entrance was always an exhilarating experience for Jaskier. It had been years since he had, but it was hard to forget the feeling.

He still remembers when his uncle took him and his cousin to a local minor league game back in Poland, Jaskier fell in love almost immediately. The push and pull of the crowd, buzzing with energy for the upcoming match. Breathing in the cold air wafting off the ice.

Not to mention the actual game.

Watching the players move around the rink, trapped in a never-ending battle for power, constantly flowing back and forth, he knew he wanted to be a part of it. 

Of course, his parents had their own opinions on the sport and how _idiotic_ it was to believe that little Julian could be a hockey player, god forbid a _professional_ one.

Needless to say, as soon as he got called by Renfri asking to be his agent, he flew out to America immediately. 

But that was in his past, and his parents call every once in a while to check in on him. It’s not perfect, but they try.

Jaskier’s phone buzzes, tearing him away from his very cinematic flashback montage, 

_Geralt: We’re at the merch store, Ciri wants to fit in_

He looks up from the front entrance, and yeah, it’s pretty easy to stick out in the sea of black and purple, which makes it easier for him to slip in and out of the crowd without being recognized. Decked out in a Raven’s hoodie and cap, he’s just another fan.

The brace kind of makes some people do a double-take, but anyone could have a knee injury. He spots a few fans staring at him, trying to make heads or tails of whether or not they recognize him.

He would be happy to sign autographs and take selfies any other day, but he’s a man on a mission.

After battling through the crowd, Jaskier finally makes it to the store, knee slightly begging for a break.

It only takes a few seconds to spot Ciri and Geralt, as their striking blonde and silver hair makes them an easy target. Jaskier makes his way over, careful to play off his limp so Geralt doesn’t make him go home,

“Yo!” Jaskier calls out, and Geralt turns around, and _dear lord_.

If he didn’t know better, Jaskier would assume the man was trying to kill him every chance he got.

Geralt was currently sporting a brown leather jacket on top of a black V-neck, with almost **too** tight jeans. Also, his hair was half up and half down, and Jaskier just wants to rip out his ponytail and rake his hands through his hair and –

“Hi Jaskier!” Ciri smiles up at him, wearing a Raven’s cap that is one size too big for her.

_He has a family, get it together,_

“Maybe we should get you something a little more your size?” Ignoring the festering lump in his heart, he guides her over to the kid’s section, Geralt close behind.

Jaskier’s mouth always had a mind of its own, and he begins listing out all the different player's statistics as they go through the jerseys,

“…and Romano had three shutouts in a row his last season. It was before I joined, so I didn’t get to play with him, but all the guys said he was great, but Christoff has really done amazing this season, and…”

It was always his worst quality, according to himself. Journalists either hated him or loved him. If they got him rolling on a certain topic, he wouldn’t stop until another player came over and gave him a little slap upside the head.

“Sorry.” _They probably hate him now._

“You’re obviously passionate about hockey,” Geralt nudges him with his shoulder, “that’s nothing to apologize for.”

And Jaskier would cry, but he won’t, not in the middle of a merch store surrounded by the cardboard cutouts of his teammates.

Ciri just looks between the two of them, “Which jersey should I get then?”

Jaskier smiles, thankful for the distraction, “You can never go wrong with a McVeigh 15, that’s a classic. Or you can go for our captain’s 11.”

She makes her way over to the wall, carefully looking at each and every jersey as if they are revealing their deepest secrets to her.

“You know she spent all last night watching hockey video compilations,” Geralt snorts, “you guys sure do fight a lot.”

Jaskier laughs, “It’s very heated out there on the ice, you try getting pushed around and see how you like it.”

Before Geralt can retort, Ciri comes over to them, hiding her hands behind her back, “I’m gonna go pay for this, okay?”

“Are you going to show us what you’ve picked?” Jaskier asks, dramatically attempting to peer behind her. She just giggles and shakes her head, skipping over to the checkout.

“She brought her own money for today,” Geralt hums, a proud smile barely hidden, “wanted the real experience.”

Ciri comes back, now wearing her purchase. Jaskier always thought their team had the best-looking jersey design, a Raven proudly perched on a hockey stick, made even little girls look badass,

“Alright, show us who you got.”

Ciri smiles and turns around, proudly showing off the bold PANKRATZ 29 on her back, “Good choice, right?”

So it wasn’t just Geralt trying to kill him. It was his kid too, _he probably roped her into this scheme_.

“What made you pick mine? There’s a lot of legends up here…” Jaskier knew he was a good player. He wouldn’t be in the majors if he weren’t. But with his injury and not being able to play made him second guess a lot of things.

“I like watching you play.” She might as well have added a ‘duh’ to the end of her sentence.

Jaskier laughs as Geralt gives her a stern ‘Ciri.’

Before they can start moving over to their seats, Jaskier hears someone call out to him,

“Jaskier! _Zdrastuvi_!” If anyone else saw a large burly man basically running over to them, they might flinch,

“Pasha!” But Jaskier was not like most people and tries not to visibly wince as Borisovich locks him in a vice disguised as a hug. When he finally let's go, Jaskier turns back to Geralt and Ciri, who is watching the whole situation with a mix of confusion and amusement,

“Geralt, Ciri, this is Pasha Borisovich, our invaluable defensemen.”

Pasha knocks him on the shoulder, and Jaskier has to pretend that him almost falling was all a part of the act. Geralt grabbing his arm to stabilize him was a nice bonus.

“Have you been hiding a family from us, Jaskier?” Pasha winks while Jaskier sputters, trying to get his feet back under him,

“Pasha!”

Geralt just laughs, “I’m his physical therapist, and this is my daughter Ciri. Jaskier was kind enough to give us some tickets.”

“Our little Jaskier is very kind,” Pasha grins while gripping Jaskier’s shoulders, “aren’t you?”

“Don’t you have to get changed?”

Pasha tuts, “I missed having you in the locker room with us. You should come down after we win.”

“How do you know you’re going to win?” Ciri is extremely lucky she’s a small child.

“Because we're playing Oxenfurt tonight,” Pasha leans over to Jaskier, “kucha zasrantsev.” _Bunch of assholes. Even_ though Jaskier used to play for the team, he’s got to agree.

They chat for a little bit before a few fans start making their way over. Pasha was always the easiest player to get a picture or autograph from since he loved walking around the stadium before a game,

“Can we take a picture with you two?”

“Sure, let me just freshen up,” Jaskier takes up his cap ruffling his hair, careful not to make eye contact with Geralt as to give the man no wrong ideas. Even though he very much wants to so, so badly.

After a few pictures, some of the fans start making small talk, and it was only a matter of time before someone asked,

“Are you going to be back this season?” The guy’s girlfriend pushes his shoulder, and Jaskier just laughs,

“Well, I’m definitely not going to let these guys win a Stanley Cup without me, that’s for sure.”

The fans seem satisfied with the answer. Jaskier wishes he could give them a solid yes or no, but _what can you do._

Pasha leaves with a quick hug and a “Do svidaniya!”

“Sorry about that,” Jaskier winces as he turns around to face Geralt and Ciri, who patiently stood off to the side while he took photos, “wanna head to our seats?”

“You’re quite popular.” Geralt smirks, and Ciri nods along,

“You have to take a picture with me too so I can show everyone at school!”

They start walking, Ciri in the middle of them, holding onto Geralt’s hand and Jaskier’s hoodie sleeve. He knows it’s just so she doesn’t get lost, but _man,_ does it make him mourn for a life he’ll never get the chance to live.

“Here we are, the best seats in the house.” At least Jaskier thinks so. Whenever he went to games, he would always fight to sit at center ice. They were a bit pricey, but it was well worth it for the view.

“Wow…” Is all Ciri can manage, and Jaskier counts it as a win, especially with the slight look of awe in Geralt’s eyes.

The rest of the day goes by in a flash. Jaskier spends most of it explaining the rules to Ciri and Geralt as well when he looks confused by all of the fans getting riled up at a bad call. It’s probably the most fun he’s had since, at least his injury, but it seals up a hole in his heart that’s been there for a while.

Even though Jaskier knows he can never have Geralt and that he’s doomed to pine from the sidelines. Being here with him and his kid, watching his favorite sport, it’s enough to cauterize the wound.

“Well, what did you think?” The team finally skated off back to the dressing room, they looked exhausted, and Jaskier did not envy them. As much as he _disliked_ Oxenfurt, they were a great team. He looks up at the final score, 2-3, and wonders if he was on the ice if he would have made a difference.

“That was awesome!” Ciri is running on fumes at this point, she spent most of the game screaming along with the fans, asking Jaskier tons of questions and standing up on her feet to get a better look at the action.

Geralt just nods, “It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”

Jaskier takes any win he can,

“Do you guys want to meet the team? You can say no, Pasha won’t mind if you dip out early.”

“Dad, can we please?” Ciri clings onto Geralt, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t worry, their great guys,” Jaskier places his hand on his heart, “but if they try anything, I’ll protect you.”

It’s meant for Ciri, but he knows the guys and Geralt might need a little protecting of his own.

“Alright,” Geralt smiles, “I trust you.”

_I’m soooooooo fucked._

Of course, the guys are on their semi-best behavior, signing Ciri’s jersey and answering all of her questions while simultaneously chirping Jaskier.

“Where the he—ck have you been, Jaski?” Listening to Teemu ‘Terror’ Terrance, captain of the Ravens and an absolute beast on the ice trying to curb his language is absolutely the funniest fucking thing Jaskier has witnessed all year,

“My doc has me chained down,” Jaskier points towards Geralt, “can’t go back on the ice till I have his permission.”

“As team captain Mr. Rivia,” Terror places a hand on his chest, “I beg of you to give us our center back.”

Pasha calls over from the other side of the locker room, “Don’t try it, Terror, guys tough as nails.”

Geralt looks a little lost amongst the hockey players, but he tries to keep up with them, “Give him a few more months, and he’ll be back.”

For some reason totally unknown to Jaskier (not), he feels his invisible feathers begin to peacock,

“You hear that?” Terror pushes Jaskier, “You’ll be back in time for the Stanley cup!”

All the players in the room begin to whoop. Everyone knew it was their year, Jaskier just hopes that he can be a part of it. Even if he were benched the whole time, just to be in the presence of the cup would make everything he has done worth it.

Jaskier doesn’t know how much time has passed till Geralt taps his shoulder, holding a very passed out Ciri,

“Hey, I got to get her home.” Geralt makes a move towards the door, and Jaskier will not be having any of that,

“Wait a sec, let me walk you out.”

“You don’t have to do that; I can find my way out.”

Jaskier just waves his hand, “Nonsense, you’re giving me a great reason to leave. These guys are hard to stand after a win.”

“Heard that!”

After saying his goodbyes, Jaskier walks Geralt and a sleeping Ciri back to their car, forcing his knee to walk way past its limit for the day,

“Thanks for…uh…coming…today…” He feels like a teenager on his first day as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, staring at his shoes.

Not that there’s any kiss waiting for him at the end of this.

“I should be thanking you,” Geralt says as he packs Ciri into the back of the car, “she’s never been so excited for anything…at least since we took her to Disneyland last year.”

They both let out a little laugh, _leave before you say something stupid._

“Well,” Jaskier leans back on his heels, sending a twinge of pain through his leg, “I should uh, get going.”

“Where’s your car? I can drive you over to it.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive here, I took an Uber.”

“There is no way you are getting an Uber in this mess.”

They look around the parking lot, and it’s not as bad as it would be if they had left right after the game ended. But there are still people waiting to get out, and the freeway behind the stadium is filled with red lights,

“Okay, I’ll…take the bus.” _Yeah, right_.

“I am not letting my patient take the bus, you’ll probably have to stand.” Geralt pauses, “I’ll drive you home.”

Jaskier protests, there’s no way he can bother this guy more than he already has, “I can’t ask you to –”

“Well, you didn’t ask, did you?” Geralt smirks, _fuck_.

Jaskier relents, knowing that any further argument would probably be bashed away. Either Geralt is extremely persuasive, or Jaskier has no spine…maybe a bit of both.

The drive back to his apartment isn’t that long, and Jaskier spends most of it fiddling with the radio.

Geralt doesn’t seem to mind as he switches it back and forth between the sports station commenting on the game and some pop station.

Or at least he pretends not to mind.

Ciri is still fast asleep when they arrive in front of his apartment. Jaskier smiles at the sight. It reminds him of himself after his first game, totally conked out from all of the excitement.

“Thanks for the ride.” When he goes to open the door, he feels a hand on his shoulder,

“Jaskier I…I wanted to tell you…” Geralt looks… _constipated_?

“Yeah?”

Before he can say whatever it was he was trying to say, Ciri wakes up,

“Where are we?” She mumbles as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

Geralt lets out a sigh, “We’re dropping off, Jaskier.”

“Awe,” Ciri pouts as she lazily waves, eyes barely opened, “bye-bye.”

“Bye-bye, Ciri,” Jaskier laughs, turning back to Geralt, “what were you going to say?”

Geralt scratches the stubble on his chin, “Um, it was nothing. Goodnight, Jaskier.”

Jaskier just cocks up an eyebrow and gets out of the car, waving as they peel away.

_What a weird guy._

* * *

_Jaskier: and then he was like ‘nevermind’_

_J: what’s up with that?????_

_Renfri: Maybe he was gonna confess_

_J: that he hates me?_

_R: That he really really likes u_

Jaskier squints at his phone,

_J: r u stupid?_

_R: I am your agent :)_

_J: GOODNIGHT RENFRI_

After he sends the text, he throws his phone across the bed, _stupid idea…_

_Right?_

* * *

Another month passes, and Jaskier can actually feel himself getting back to his old self. Geralt only has him wear his brace on his downtime to alleviate some of the stress, but other than that, he’s basically ready to get back on the ice.

Well, at least he thinks so. Geralt has his reservations, worrying that Jaskier might move the wrong way and injure himself again, or even worse than before. So he spends most of his physical therapy trying to prove himself to Geralt and the rest of the day icing his knee.

But Geralt doesn’t need to know that.

It’s just…the sooner his knee gets better, the sooner he can get back out on the ice and never see Geralt again.

Jaskier had been dealing with his one-sided affection to the best of his ability.

Balancing trying to keep the relationship completely platonic and living in a fantasy world where Geralt actually likes him back was a lot of work.

But Jaskier thought he had been doing a good job.

That is until he meets with one Yennefer Vengerberg.

At first, he just spots Ciri, so he walks over and starts chatting about the last hockey game.

“You must be Julian,” A voice calls out from behind him. When Jaskier turns around, he’s met with what must be the most beautiful woman in the world.

After gawking at her for what seems like a millennium, he takes her hand that had been patiently waiting for a handshake. Of course, he spots the giant rock on her finger and immediately feels jealousy and guilt start to eat away at him,

“Yes, that’s me. I am Julian.” _Idiot._

She raises an eyebrow, “I’ve heard a lot about you. Ciri says you’re a hockey player.”

“He’s the best!” Ciri chimes in.

Jaskier rubs his neck, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“So, you’re not a good player?” Yennefer stares him down as if she could read all of his impure thoughts about her husband.

“Mom, that’s not nice.”

Yennefer laughs _coldly_ , “Sorry, I’m just joking.”

Jaskier lets out a laugh that he hopes doesn’t sound too forced. The faces on the two tell him he didn’t do a very good job.

“Well,” Yennefer turns back to Ciri, “we should be off. Tell Geralt I say hi!”

With that, she walks off with Ciri in tow. If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he would say that she was _messing_ with him.

Maybe Geralt had picked up on his ogling and told his wife, and they both laughed at him while they had scorching sex…

Jaskier wallows in his pity till Geralt comes out and gets him, but even staring at his muscles straining in his t-shirt doesn’t help as much as it used to.

“Are you doing alright?” Geralt asks as Jaskier jogs on the treadmill,

“Oh yeah, I’m doing great,” Jaskier answers back, barely out of breath, knee barely bothering him.

Geralt shakes his head, “I mean up here.” He says while tapping Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier smiles, “I’m all good doc.”

Geralt hums, clearly not convinced.

After they end for the day, Geralt clears his throat, Jaskier looks up from his stretch with an eyebrow raised,

“Yes?”

“I was wondering….um…if you would like…”

“Yeah?” Jaskier feels kind of breathless, and it’s not because of his work out. He holds out a hand for Geralt to help him up. He is totally not having a conversation with Geralt from the ground.

Geralt grabs his hand, “Well, from your progress, I’d say another week, and you’ll be back on the ice.”

He catches Jaskier as he stumbles from the shock.

Jaskier always knew he would be back before the season ended, but to actually hear it from Geralt’s mouth, that was something else,

“For real?”

“Yeah, so once we finish with your rehab,” Geralt looks down, and Jaskier follows him, noticing their hands are still holding onto one another, “would you like to go to dinner…to celebrate?”

How many times can a heart stop before it never beats again?

Jaskier would like to know because currently, he’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

Geralt tilts his head, “Jaskier?”

“Dinner sounds great!” He manages to squeak out.

Geralt's eyes crinkle slightly from the upturn of his mouth, “I’ll send you the details once we finish, alright?”

Words evade him at the moment, so Jaskier just nods.

* * *

_Jaskier: You Will Not Believe what just happened_

_Renfri: This better be important_

_J: Geralt….asked me to Dinner????????_

_R: W H A T_

_J: What does this mean_

_J: What do I do??_

_R: Did you say yes??_

_J: ..yeah_

_R: homewrecker lol_

“Oh yeah, he has a wife.” A very pretty wife with a very nice daughter.

Jaskier goes to bed with an upset stomach that night.

* * *

The last appointment goes by smoothly, Jaskier spends most of his time running without Geralt. So he has time to ignore all of the thoughts running through his brain like,

_“Is this a friendly dinner?”_

_“Does Geralt want a sidepiece?”_

_“Maybe this is something he does with all his patients?_

_“…Or with the ones he uses to cheat on his wife…”_

_“Geralt isn’t like that.”_

_“Right?”_

It’s all quite antagonizing and doesn’t get much better when Geralt comes back to do one final range of motion test on his leg. Which requires a lot of physical contact, which makes all of Jaskier’s previous negative thoughts out of the window and replaces them with,

_“Oh my god fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me.”_

Needless to say, when Geralt asks him if he’s still joining him on Saturday, Jaskier nods, and later when he sends a text with the details he sends back,

_Jaskier: okay c u then :)_

In other words, Jaskier is metaphorically (and perhaps literally) screwed. 

* * *

“Too slutty.” Renfri is lounging on his bed like some sort of Greek statue, dolling out insults to everything he’s put on for her,

“One, you didn’t even look. Two, you have said that about every shirt I’ve shown you.”

“Well,” Renfri yawns, “it’s because one, I’m smart. And two, because you only own slutty shirts.”

Jaskier throws up his hands, “You bought them for me!”

“Yeah, but when you put them on, they become… _stultified._ ” She waves her hand around in the air as her other continues texting whoever it is she’s constantly talking to. It would be rather impressive if she weren’t so infuriating.

“You’re no help, and I have to leave in,” Jaskier checks his phone, “I have to leave right now. Please get out of my house so I can leave in peace.”

Renfri gets up and puts her phone away, hugging him as she walks out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t want you to do.”

“I’ll try my best Ren.”

He gives himself a once over in the hallway mirror, making sure his buttons are correctly buttoned and that is hair doesn’t have any flyaways and solidifies that a purple silk button-up does not make him a slut…yeah…

_“Right?”_

“Whatever.”

It’s nice to finally drive on his own, he was grateful for all of his drivers over the past few months. But not being able to simply get himself from one point to another…well, Jaskier equated it to the same feeling he got when someone stole the puck from him.

He’s not the only one, _of course_ , but his teammates always made fun of him for throwing tantrums during practice.

Well, they called them tantrums, not Jaskier. No, he simply referred to it as exacting revenge.

Also, not having to make small talk with the drivers was a plus.

The restaurant looked rather fancy from the outside, and Jaskier worries that he might have underdressed. He usually stays away from upscale places unless he’s invited by the boys or for a business meeting that Renfri says he “ _absolutely must attend_.”

He turns off his engine and stares at the couples; some are sitting on the patio, enjoying the slight chill of the air. Others are inside, leaning in close as they share food from their plates.

It’s all very…romantic.

The name of the restaurant is named “ _La Nourriture du Cœur_ ” for gods’ sake. If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he would think this is a date.

But he knows _extremely_ better.

Jaskier wonders if Geralt knows, maybe he just looked for the nearest restaurant, and this popped up. Just an honest mistake!

Right?

Checking his watch one last time, worried about being too early or too late, Jaskier takes a breath and one final look in the rearview mirror before exiting his car and making his way inside.

Right as he enters, he spots Geralt sat in the corner of the restaurant near the window. It makes Jaskier wish he knew how to paint, surrounded by the rushing waiters and haloed by the dim light, wearing a deep red shirt and his hair in a low ponytail…

Honestly, the man was probably an assassin sent to kill him.

He doesn’t have to long to ogle the man because a few seconds later, Geralt turns his head (probably from the feeling of being watched) and waves. He waves back and makes sure to make his way over carefully, not willing to trip on his own feet as Geralt watches, raising to give Jaskier a very polite, very friendly handshake,

“You made it one piece.”

“Thanks to you.” He says it because he honestly can’t remember if he did say a proper thank you during his last appointment. Too flustered by their upcoming… (Rendezvous? Meeting? Da…te? _Not a date._ )

Geralt shakes his head as he sits back down, “Thank your surgeon first.”

“Well,” Jaskier sits down, raising an eyebrow, “my surgeon didn’t invite me to dinner, did she?”

Geralt huffs, already knowing from their months together that there’s no use arguing with him,

“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us some wine.”

“Trying to get me loose?” Listen, he doesn’t mean anything by it, just some friendly banter between two (Acquaintances? Friends?) people.

Geralt’s face goes red as he pretends to read the menu intensely, and Jaskier immediately kicks himself, literally,

“Geralt, I’m kidding. Wine is perfect.” _You’re perfect._

Their waitress comes by to take their orders, and Jaskier just picks something at random, hoping that it won’t be something that he comes to regret later.

After she leaves, they find themselves at a lull in the conversation. Jaskier’s leg has begun to vibrate, and he can see Geralt fidget in his seat, so he decides to try and put an end to both their miseries,

But it seems Geralt has the same idea,

“Did you –"

“So how has –”

“Go ahead.”

“Please continue.”

They both stare at each other for a second and then burst into laughter, gaining a few odd looks from the patrons beside them.

“You go first.” Geralt opens his mouth to protest, but Jaskier glues it shut with a look,

“Fine,” _Smart man,_ “I was wondering if you went back to training since I cleared you?”

“I have!” Jaskier beams, “I feel as good as new like I never even left.”

Geralt smiles in return, “I’m glad. Does anything hurt? Because if it does, you need to rest it and –-“

“And put ice on it and elevate, yes Geralt I know,” He rolls his eyes (but appreciates the sentiment deeply), “you’ve only told me a _thousand_ times.”

Before Geralt can retort, their waitress returns with their food,

“Let’s dig in, shall we.”

And they do, talking in between bites…well, Jaskier does most of the talking while Geralt hums along,

“…and then he called a penalty! Can you believe that? I’m pretty sure the ref was working for the other team because he kept making _terrible_ calls…”

“Hmm.”

“That reminds me of the time when I was still over in Poland, and one of the other players tried goading me into dropping my gloves, which I didn’t, but he did, and he swung. I might have leaned a bit into it, but the point we scored off of it was totally worth it.”

“Hm.”

“There was also this time when my ---” Jaskier finally realizes how the past few minutes have looked, as he constantly chattered away without letting Geralt get a word in edgewise. The man was very soft-spoken, but that didn’t give Jaskier the right to tread all over him!

“Jaskier?”

He stares at his half-empty plate, “I’m so sorry, I rambled too much.”

“Jaskier, it's fine. I like…” He mumbles something, and Jaskier has to lean in, barely catching it,

“Sorry, what?”

If the veal on Geralt’s plate were still alive, it would be dead (again) and probably on fire,

“I like hearing you talk.” He mumbles it, but Jaskier can hear it as clear as day.

Now it’s his turn to blush, “ _Oh._ ”

Because how else is Jaskier supposed to respond to that?

By ignoring it, of course.

He continues where he left off, filling up the awkward space that seems to creep in every so often between them.

(Because maybe, perhaps, it’s the fact that they are borderline flirting with each other when they both know that Geralt is a married man that is making this dinner a little, perhaps, awkward.)

They’re in the middle of discussing Ciri’s latest rebellious antics when the waitress comes back,

“Here’s the check sirs, please take your time.” Which is code for, _please leave we have other customers._

They take the hint and pay for dinner _separately_ , and head outside. It feels ten degrees cooler from when he came. Jaskier hates himself for not remembering to bring a blazer, but he’s used to it because, you know, hockey player.

Geralt looks shy? His hands are in his pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to keep himself warm. It’s rather quite charming, and Jaskier would kiss him. But he won’t because, _married,_ “Can I walk you to your car?”

What’s the harm in that?

“Sure.”

They’re talking about something mundane, it’s nice, conversations though sometimes lapsing, were always easy with Geralt. Even back at the clinic, when they barely knew each other, they could banter back and forth.

“Well, here we are…at my car.”

Geralt wrinkles his nose at the awful rhyme, “Really?”

“What are you going to do about it?” Jaskier challenges, it’s not supposed to mean anything.

Except Geralt seems to want to rise to the occasion,

And…well, kisses him.

_Wait._

_Geralt…_

_Is kissing me?_

_…_

_IS THAT HIS TONGUE?????_

They break apart, and Jaskier isn’t sure if he even got the chance to close his eyes. Which are currently wide open and starring off over Geralt’s shoulder,

“Jaskier, are you alright?” Geralt places a hand on his cheek, and _wow_ is it big, and _wow_ is his heart beating fast,

“I…have to…do something…” And, well, he turns on his heel and runs to the tune of,

_“Oh my god.”_

_“Oh my fuck.”_

_“HE’S MARRIED!”_

_“Oh my god.”_

Jaskier is about a block away before he realizes that _he drove here_ and is going to have to go back and get his car…

“I’m getting an Uber.”

* * *

Interviewers always clamored at Jaskier when he mentioned that he liked to write music. They would focus on him during “behind the hockey” videos, trying to get him to reveal his _very_ secret songbook.

He would laugh and play it off, curbing their hunger with an acoustic cover of the most popular song at the moment for them to use.

Even his teammates knew not to go snooping through it. A man had to have his privacy.

Which a Certain Agent doesn’t seem to understand,

_Renfri: stop ignoring me_

He has not been _ignoring_ Renfri, he’s just been…wallowing and singing,

_“But we sunk into water no creature can know_

_You dragged us both into the darkness that grows_

_Our devils broke rank and out of th—"_

His fingers slip off of the strings as his phone begins to ring, and Jaskier decides that it’s better to answer it now than face her wrath later,

“Are you singing right now? Which one is it …? Two Minutes?” She hums, “Or…Fair, I bet it’s that one!”

“I still can’t believe you looked through my songbook.” Except, he completely can.

“I’m your agent, I have to know everything about you.”

“Honestly, Ren, you terrify me.”

“Then I’m doing my job.”

Jaskier just groans, “Why are you calling me?

“Because it’s been a week since your date – I know, I know, ‘not a date,’” Jaskier can hear the air quotes from here, “But playoffs are very soon, and some of the guys have noticed that you’ve been a bit off.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want you to get traded from a team you really like just because of some guy.”

“Why would I get traded?”

“Because your sad, and when your sad, you play too rough, and when you play too rough, you get too many penalties, and when you ge—”

“Okay!” Jaskier sighs, rubbing his face with his free hand, “Okay, I get it, just let me have the rest of tonight, and I’ll get back to normal.”

“You promise? I can come over if you want, bring some beer – well, maybe not. Your nutritionist is already very cross with you…”

Jaskier lets himself laugh, Renfri can be a pain, but at the end of the day, she means well, “I’m okay, Ren, just need some time to myself.”

“Alright, just say the word, and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Ren.” He can feel his eyes begin to water, and his throat begins to swell, and Jaskier most certainly cannot have that.

“No problem.”

After he hangs up, he picks back up his guitar and begins to play again,

_“Cause these plates, they smash like waves_

_And the wine stains, hide the tears_

_But that breathing you hear, don’t mistake it for sighs_

_Don’t you realize they’re just battle cries, dear?_

_And these lines aren’t wrinkles, dear heart_

_They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art_

_As I walk away I know that I’ve been through the wars_

_But that creaking you hear in my bones, it’s not pain, it’s applause_

_It’s not pain…”_

He barely gets the last line out before he hears a knocking on his door,

“Renfri, I told you I –” But as he looks through the peephole (because he’s seen enough Forensic Files during hotel stays, _thank you very much_ ), he doesn’t see the brown-haired woman he’s come to love and hate as a sister,

No instead, he sees the very handsome white-haired physical therapist who he had unceremoniously run away from a week ago.

And he looks rather…mad.

“I heard you talking, so don’t pretend you aren’t there.”

Jaskier _doesn’t_ jump. He’s a fucking hockey player, for gods’ sake, he’s been checked by players twice his height and weight.

At most, his shoulders twitched, _at most_.

“Jaskier.” And man can that man growl.

He decides to open the door, he has a feeling that Geralt won’t leave without a fight.

“Geralt,” Swinging his arms open in a dramatic fashion, he adopts whenever he’s in an _extremely_ uncomfortable situation, “what a lovely surprise!”

The other man just ignores him and walks into the apartment, already beginning to pace back and forth in the living room,

“By all means,” Jaskier mutters, “make yourself at home.”

Geralt ignores him again, opening and closing his mouth, pointing at Jaskier, and then groaning. It would be rather amusing if it weren’t all directed at him.

“Are you okay?” It’s only polite to ask, but it just seems to make Geralt angrier.

“Am I okay?” Geralt throws up his hands, “I should be asking you that!”

All Jaskier can manage to say is, “Um…”

Not the most eloquent he’s been, but Geralt has that effect on him.

“I thought we were having a nice time, maybe I was reading too much into it, but I thought, ‘hey, you know, go for it, Geralt. What’s there to lose?’” Geralt’s hair is currently down and flapping around as his hands waving frantically in the air, again it would be rather amusing but…circumstances.

“Geralt…”

“And we’re talking, and it’s nice, and I think, ‘I’m going to kiss this man because I really like him,” Geralt spins around, and Jaskier has to move back to avoid his hair hitting him in the face, “and do you know what he does?”

“Well, you see…”

“He. Runs. Away.”

With that, Geralt collapses onto the couch with his head in his hands and groans, “Then I was like, that was weird, he left his car, maybe I totally read that wrong. So I send a text, and you don’t answer then a week goes by, and I haven’t heard from you,” his hands muffle the words, but Jaskier can hear them clearly anyways, “so then I think, ‘well why don’t I just go ask him,’ and now I realize, that this must look completely crazy to you.”

First, this is the most Jaskier has heard the man speak, so he stores that in his little heart for later, and second…

_“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”_

He plops down on the couch next to Geralt, the man is still covering his face, but it doesn’t hide his bright red ears.

“Geralt, it wasn’t –”

“If you say, ‘it wasn’t you, it was me,’ I’ll tell your coach you can’t play for the rest of the season.” He looks up from his hands long enough to speak and then promptly regrets his words.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak and then closes it immediately. Does he really need to spell it out?

The current picture of a dying man on his couch tells him that he might have to,

“Okay, fine,” Jaskier huffs, “It’s not me. It’s you, and the fact that you are _married_.”

That makes Geralt turn his head at warp speed, squinting at Jaskier like he currently has a hand protruding out of his nose.

It gets so intense that Jaskier’s face begins to itch and feels like running to the bathroom to check if that is, in fact, the case.

“I’m…what?”

“Married, Geralt,” Jaskier looks back at him like he also has a hand protruding from his face, “did you forget?”

“Where did you get that idea?” Geralt’s face is going through a million different emotions, and Jaskier doesn’t even know what to say, so he just opens his mouth,

“Well, you don’t wear a ring, but Yennefer does, so maybe you’re not married. It is the twenty-first century, and I am a man of culture, so perhaps you two have a civil relationship or are simply partners in the sense. Still, she is the mother of your child, Geralt, and honestly, it is a disgrace that you think that I would simply let you wreck your home life just for a quick fuck. Because if I was responsible for making Ciri choose between the both of you, I don’t know if I could live with myself…why are you laughing?”

He might have been laughing for much longer, as shown by the fact that there are tears currently rolling down his face and Geralt is holding his stomach in pain,

“Jaskier, me and Yennefer…” He stops to laugh again, like the barking of a dog, “oh my gods…”

Jaskier scowls, he hates being the butt of the joke, “If your quite finished, I would _love_ to know what’s so funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt breathes in and composes himself, his smile turning back into a simple line, “Jaskier, me and Yennefer were never together.”

“…What?”

“Well, for one night,” Geralt sighs, “We were both…messed up. I was going through my graduate program, and she had her own issues, and we just kinda…” He makes a vague gesture, but Jaskier gets the message, except,

“So…you’re not…together?”

Geralt’s smile returns, much softer this time, “No, Jaskier.”

“But…Ciri?”

“Like I said, we were both messed up, forgot birth control,” he chuckles, “Yennefer called me two months later, told me she was keeping the baby, but I was welcome in her life if I wished…”

He begins to pick at the skin on his fingers, and Jaskier grabs them,

Geralt sighs and continues, “But I…I wasn’t…I don’t know, I was different back then. I was so angry at the world, and I didn’t know what I was doing with my life…so I just ignored her.”

Jaskier grimaces, wondering how different things would have been if they had met then,

“You don’t have to say anything more if you don’t want to.”

Geralt shakes his head, “I want to.”

“She would send ultrasounds and updates about when Ciri kicked and when her due date was…” Jaskier squeezes his hand, “And I thought about blocking her number so many times, but I just…and then she sent a picture of Ciri red-faced and crying, and I just broke down.”

He laughs, “I went and visited her that day. Yennefer gave me an earful about letting her go through the pregnancy by herself, but when she handed me Ciri, I just…couldn’t breathe anymore. I was so scared of dropping her, she was so small and I…I was so scared.”

There’s a tear falling down his cheek, but they both ignore it,

“We did try being together, but it just wasn’t a good fit between us. Maybe, another time it would have worked, but it just,” Geralt lets out a shaky breath, “We tried.”

Another squeeze and he goes on,

“Ciri was about four when we decided to split for good. We went to the courts and did the whole song and dance. Got a visitation schedule and everything, Ciri likes it, and honestly, that’s all that we care about.”

“Geralt…I…feel really stupid.”

“We do have a weird partnership,” Geralt chuckles, “so I see where the confusion might have set in.”

Jaskier leans back into the couch and then sits back up, “Wait!”

Geralt raises an eyebrow, “Yes?”

“What about the ring?” Maybe he’s grasping at straws here. It’s just all too good to be true.

“That would be Yennefer’s engagement ring,” Jaskier opens his mouth and Geralt just holds up his free hand, then uses it to dig for his phone, pulling up a picture of Yennefer and _another_ gorgeous woman with tight curls smiling and showing off their rings to the camera.

“Oh…”

“They proposed at the same time, Ciri and I had a big part in that.”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to put his head in his hands, and groans,

“Jestem bardzo głupi.” _I am so stupid._

Geralt starts rubbing Jaskier’s back, and he would purr if he weren’t so deep in complete and utter self-pity, “I’m sorry, I should have made it more clear, I just assumed…”

“Well, you know what they say…” Jaskier mumbles.

“That hockey players have no teeth?”

Jaskier swings his head back to Geralt, who is sporting a very _unbecoming_ wolfish grin,

“I’ll have you know that I still have all my teeth! Many of my teammates do. Not all of us are brutish men like the Flyers or the Bruins or _Oxenfurt_! Don’t even get me started on them! They used to have us run drills on how to punch someone to knock them out efficiently during a fight, and I knew immediately that I had made the wrong choice-“

Geralt interrupts him, and Jaskier would be very cross with him if it wasn’t for the fact that the man was currently kissing the life out of him. It’s much more rushed, much hungrier than their first.

It’s a bit messy, and Geralt accidentally bites his lip a little too hard, and Jaskier’s breath probably tastes like ass mixed with toothpaste, but it’s every bit them, and it’s every bit perfect. And when they separate to catch a breath, they barely move from one another, noses brushing as their foreheads pressed together, hot breath mixing together,

“You talk too much.” They're so close that his lips almost brush against Jaskier’s as he speaks.

“Says the man who just poured his heart out to me.”

Geralt grunts and Jaskier shuts him up with a kiss.

It only seems fair.

A few minutes later…or hours, who knows? They separate again, as hands have found themselves under shirts and near very loose belts,

“Um…would you…do you…wanttospendthenight?” Jaskier, who is an _adult_ , should not be this flustered, but unfortunately, he is and is currently trying to compose himself by looking anywhere other than the very hot man that has practically sucked the soul out of him,

“Say that again?”

“Would you,” Jaskier spots that irritating wolf grin and slaps Geralt on the shoulder, who just laughs, and suddenly Jaskier joins in.

They laugh as nearly as long as they made out, and it just feels…nice.

“I would love to spend the night.” His smile is much prettier and softer this time.

“Okay, cool. We don’t even have to do anything, just sleep, we can sleep if that’s all you want to do. We can sleep in separate rooms! Totally cool with –”

Geralt is getting too comfortable with interrupting with a kiss, but Jaskier finds that he doesn’t really mind,

“I would love to spend the night with you, any way that you’d like.”

“Well, I have a lot of ideas.” Jaskier winks, and Geralt laughs.

And maybe they spend the night just kissing lightly, hands brushing softly against stomachs, sharing hushed laughter and whispers, and maybe they fall asleep as soon as they get under the covers.

And maybe when they wake up, they stare at each other, and make eggs and pancakes and talk about what they’re going to do that day, and they pepper in kisses between bites.

And maybe, between those kisses and the bad hockey jokes, they both realize that they are deeply, undeniably in love with one another.

But right now, as Geralt wears Jaskier’s sweatpants that are a bit too small and Jaskier groans at the T.V., that this is perfect enough.

For now, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! I have a few other chapters planned but this is basically a oneshot on its own so I decided to post it because I was not gonna let all my hard work rot in my WIP folder
> 
> which I keep adding too, oops
> 
> oh yeah I chose Ravens as the team as a nod to a witcher!Jaskier fic idea I have stewing in my tiny little brain
> 
> also Renfri being Jaskier's agent/friend is a nod to tanktrilby's Food of Love fic which I absolutely adore with my whole being and u should probably go read it right now
> 
> also Jaskier was singing battle cries from the amazing devil because if he doesn't sing in my fic then did I even write it?  
> also some of the translations I didn't put in 
> 
> \- Zdrastuvi means hi
> 
> \- La Nourriture du Cœur means "the food of love" (very dumb I know)
> 
> i would like to give a big thank u to all of the "top ten polish phrases you should know" websites and google translate
> 
> also my tumblr is [adhdbuck](https://adhdbuck.tumblr.com/) if u wanna chat or send me a prompt :3
> 
> comments/kudos/criticisms are always appreciated <3


End file.
